M'ap Souffri

Today is Sunday and the only day of the week that we have a commitment involving an exact time and place- Church.  Church starts at 10:00a.m. inside Wozye (undun Wozye).  We got out our church clothes and Anna Ray's beloved gold shoes and headed out.  By 8:45 we were on our way- holding hands as we walked the 45 minutes to the Church.  Walking is a part of life here that Luc and Anna Ray have not learned to enjoy yet.  I encourage them to walk by discussing how big their muscles will be and singing Disney princess songs with Anna Ray.  They are somewhat willing with good conversation.  The church involved lots of singing and the beautiful drums of Haiti.  I understood very little which in some ways was more enjoyable.  It started raining during the service and the deacon had to stop speaking and everyone sang as the rain on the tin roof made it too loud for us to hear anything else.  The walk back was hard as the roads were full of ponds and mud.  We made it, though, and congratulated ourselves with a cold Sprite and Coke (the cold part being the most special of all).

Everywhere we go people greet us with "Bonjou!  How are you today?"  The response that comes first to my mind is, "M'ap souffri."  I'm suffering.  Of course I never utter that as our lives are good and I am most definitely one of the most well fed women here.  But there are times that I would be willing to cash in our 401K for central air, running water, some 409, and a salad with blue cheese dressing.

Yesterday we spent the morning at the weekly market here.  The vendors all sell essentially the same goods- rice, beans, oil, chicken bouillon, spaghetti, onions, soap, barrettes, and candy.  You can also find local remedies and amoxicillin in plastic baggies.  One of our neighbors, Madame Micheline, was selling the clay cakes that we have often read of in the US papers.  They are "cakes" made of clay, oil, and salt.  The villagers who can not afford food eat these.

So, M'ap souffri... Luc has picked up on this common Creole phrase too.  As we walked back from the market yesterday our hands slipping out of one anothers because of all the sweating we were doing, he told me "Mama, I'm suffering."

The hardest part of living here intellectually is realizing how much we have given up to live here and still how we have so much more than everyone around us.  My eyes are different this time in Haiti as I have children too.  The struggles of the families to survive hits much closer to home than it did before.  More than anything, I am hoping to be a witness to the life and the struggles here.

We miss you all- Elisabeth